Different in Chuchuliga

Anonymity has been hard to come by in Ghana. Whether it's the neighbours laughing when I try to wash my clothes, being stared at on the street, or having children yell "fella, fella, good morning! [white man, white man, good morning!]" whenever I bike by, it's hard to blend into the background. Novel at first, it can get tiring after a while; there are times when I just want to be ignored.

Two weekends ago, a fact-finding mission took me outside of Navrongo. I've been having trouble with the numbers in my report on crop profitability, and a friend suggested I visit a commercial farmer named Janet in Chuchuliga, to ask about her crop budgets.

Chuchuliga is maybe only 10 km from Navrongo, so it wasn't hard to find a shared cab in the taxi run lot waiting for passengers to the village. The cab driver seemed to think I'd just rolled into town (it didn't help when I admitted that I'd never been to Chuchuliga), and offered to take me there on my own for 20,000 cedis (according to him, the cost was really 40,000, but he was doing me a favour). The deal turned to 10,000 cedis for the front seat to myself (normally, on this particular run, two people would cram into the front). I said that I was fine with the usual set up and sat down to wait for passengers to arrive; unfortunately, when it came time to get in, the cab driver was under the impression that I'd taken the "10,000 for the front seat" deal.

I can't say for sure, but I think it was the combination of 'being treated differently' and 'being ripped off' that annoyed me. I started into a yelling match with the cab driver, before realizing that there were 4 people crammed into the back of the cab that would probably rather that I just let it go. So I got in.

When we got to Chuchuliga, the driver seemed happy to help out. After paying the fare, he launched into an explanation of how to get to Janet's bar (as a bar proprietor, commercial farmer, and community leader, Janet was fairly well known by anyone who had ever been to Chuchuliga). I didn't hear much of the cab driver's explanation before I got out and slammed the door.

Deciding to figure out the way myself, I greeted a nearby woman and asked her how to get to Janet's bar. She led me farther down the path away from the road, pointed at a maize field, and walked away. I briefly considered the possibility that Janet had built her bar in the middle of the field (maybe she heard voices saying "if you build it, they will come"), before returning to ask the woman for clarification. I asked for Janet several times, attempting to perfect my pronunciation, before she replied "oh, Madam Janet! I thought you were asking for a place to urinate!"

The woman explained that I was standing right beside Janet’s bar, which is probably what the cab driver was trying to tell me when I slammed the door. I walked in, greeted the patrons and asked about Janet’s whereabouts; luckily, a man decided to lead me to her (when I ask how to get somewhere, people are often determined to lead me right there, so I try not to ask anyone who looks too busy).

He led me back towards the center of town, where a giant circle of hundreds of women had gathered. In the middle was a drum crew, and the more outgoing women were dancing to the beat and wiping the sweat off the drummers’ foreheads with their shawls.

I was an hour early for our meeting, and based on what I knew about Janet, I had a feeling that she was probably busy here. I told my guide that I would sit down and try to find Janet later; unfortunately, my English didn’t seem to count for much in Chuchuliga, and he went into the circle to find the woman in the middle of it all and point her in my direction.

It was easy to see why Janet was so highly respected; she greeted me as though we’d been friends for years, and it felt like we had. We talked for a few seconds before she decided to grab me a chair to sit down and watch what was going on. I felt a twinge of guilt here; an older woman went to the back of the circle to supply me with a chair, but I didn’t want reject their hospitality.

For some reason, Janet picked up the chair and set it down in another part of the circle. I sat down. Before long, the drummers had moved across the circle and were drumming right in front of me. Some women occasionally pulled out coins and bills and stuck them to the drummers’ and dancers’ foreheads; I wondered if they were looking for a tip from me, but I felt a little too disoriented to start sticking currency to anybody’s forehead.

Janet found a few minutes to come over, sit down and explain what was going on. The MP of the area, who was also the Deputy Regional Minister of the Upper East, was coming to the town to hand out cloth (I'm guessing it was a form of aid after the floods). The cloth was for all the women of the village, but would only be handed to the leaders. Janet explained that she had organized the event so that the hand-over could be done in full view of all the women in the village.

As Janet got up to leave, I noticed a line of empty chairs to her left, beside my own. It slowly dawned on me that I had just become the newest member of the government’s delegation.

My fears were confirmed when the MP arrived in an escorted SUV a few minutes later, along with her bodyguard and several female staff members. I shook hands with the MP and her staff as they sat down, wondering what I was doing there. I was aware of the fact that I hadn’t shaved in a few days and was wearing the some clothes as the day before, although I tried to flatten my hair down.

The MP started her address, speaking in Buli (the language of Chuchuliga and the Builsa District). After a few minutes, she began gesturing to the members of her staff, while the crowd clapped intermittently (introductions, apparently). As she progressed down the line, I tried to move my chair farther away, unsuccessfully attempting to blend in with the hundreds of middle-aged Ghanaian women forming the circle.

The MP reached me and began speaking. I was uncertain of how best to react to an introduction by a person I’d just met in a language I’d just heard for the first time. A few words in, I heard the word "fella" ("white man" in Buli as well as Kasem, apparently). Realizing that she was making a joke, I grinned as sheepishly as possible and waved to the crowd, who laughed.

She finished handing out the cloth and left for another engagement as quickly as she arrived. When Janet came over to sit down again, I asked her what the MP had said.

"Wherever she goes, she makes a new son. She said, ‘this is my son, the white man, although I do not yet know his name’."

I might feel different here sometimes, but it’s good to be reminded of just how quickly I’ve been accepted as well.

Dam Nation

If there's one thing Ghana seems to love, it would have to be dams (...and football). Akosombo, the giant hydroelectric dam in the south, supplies the entire country with electricity, and restrains the world's largest artificial lake (Lake Volta). A new hydroelectric dam is being built, and will hopefully address the recent rolling blackouts.

Here in Kassena-Nankana, though, it's all about irrigation. The district has over 40 small-scale dams, and two large ones, which supply irrigation canals allowing farmers to grow crops during the dry season. The dams are also used for livestock and fishing. Dams have been in use here for a long time, and with good reason; the climate is defined by erratic rainfall and a very long dry season (about to begin in October).



One important way of looking at reducing poverty in northern Ghana is by promoting "Agriculture as a Business". By assisting farmers in moving from subsistence farming (keeping most of what you grow for your family's meals) to income-based farming (selling more crops on the market), the extreme vulnerability of subsistence farming can be reduced.

Farmers primarily grow staple cereal crops (maize, millet, sorghum, rice) during the rainy season, often for sustenance. In the dry season, however, vegetables can be grown on the irrigated land, and sold on the market. Every time a farmer can turn a profit growing vegetable crops in the dry season, that extra cash makes him or her a little less vulnerable to how the next rainy season plays out. It also affords more opportunities, such as sending children to higher levels of education.

I'm currently working on a report assessing the profitability and risks of three of the main dry season vegetable crops: tomatoes, onions and hot peppers (or "peypey" as they're called here). To get some data, I visited Tono Dam, the largest dam in the district (and the biggest of its kind in West Africa, from some accounts).

I was struck by just how massive Tono is; not having seen a decent-sized body of water since leaving Canada, the lake seemed to stretch out forever. Tono Dam spans a distance of 2 kilometres, and irrigates a total area of 2500 hectares. The irrigation canal winds its way through 9 villages. The spillway has been flowing for almost a month due to the rains; luckily, the water level is far below what it was at the height of the floods, when the spillway threatened to overflow (a situation which would have been disastrous for the surrounding villages).


The flowing spillway might be evidence of a harsh rainy season, but it's good news for fishermen. Anyone can pay for a seasonal contract to fish with nets on the lake. When the spillway's flowing, though, all you have to do is wait for the fish to come to you. There's been a lot of good tilapia in Navrongo market lately.


This was also the first day I took out my camera since I got to Ghana. On top of the fact that I'm not exactly a star photographer, snapping pictures can be difficult here. It can send the wrong impression, and when you ask strangers if you can take their pictures, they'll often refuse. One picture I took of some recently caught fish set off a minor incident when the woman cleaning the fish thought that I wanted to include her in the photograph. Luckily, Felix (the father of my Ghanaian family and my guide to the dam) was able to explain the situation.

Water, Water Everywhere

I've been working in Navrongo for about two and a half weeks now. The people here are incredibly hospitable, and it seems like I've gotten to know half the town. They're all testing me on my knowledge of Kassem, too (the local language).

Unfortunately, the district has been experiencing incredibly bad rains lately as well. There has been a downpour almost every day since I came. While the rest of Ghana is doing well with the weather, huge areas of the Upper-East Region are experiencing the worst floods in 15 years. Crops and livestock have been adversely affected, and one of the duties of the Ministry of Food and Agriculture now is to go out into the district and determine the losses that farmers have experienced. In addition, throughout the Kassena-Nankana district, houses are crashing down one by one.

Traditionally, houses in Kassena-Nankana (of which Navrongo is the capital) are built from clay. The roofs are nearly flat, with a slight slope towards one side, with a ridge of clay around all four ends. At the lowest end, a single pipe allows the water to drain off. This relatively flat roof allows a family to sleep on top during the hot months, and inside when it is cold. In normal years, the design withstands the weather well. However, with the rains as they are now, the houses cannot hold up under the onslaught. It is difficult to find a traditional house left standing.

Closer to town, the people who can afford more modern aluminum-roofed houses have made it through the rainy season. When the rains stop, in October, those with clay houses will have a chance to rebuild and recover as much as possible. In the mean time, however, the destruction across the countryside is a reminder of how much vulnerability (to weather, to markets, or to other factors) shapes and defines what poverty is.

On a Mission

After a trip out to meet the District Director at the office where I will be working in Navrongo, I have come to Bolgatanga for a few days, while the director asks a family if they'd be willing to have me stay with them. With a full day in Bolgatanga to myself, I half-expected to sleep, read, and wander around town for a few hours. Sarah Lewis has other plans.

Sarah is a Long-Term Volunteer with EWB in Ghana, and has been here for seven months. She also works with the Ministry of Food and Agriculture, and developed and organized my placement in Navrongo. I will be working with and reporting to her for the next 3 months. Sarah is also the former president of the EWB chapter at Waterloo, so we go way back.

Sarah's 'mission' for me was this: go out into Bolgatanga, and ask people why they thought that fewer girls than boys attend school in Ghana.

I found this to be a fairly scary proposition. Asking strangers for their opinions on complicated issues probably isn't something that comes naturally to me (or most people, I expect). But with the added cultural and linguistic barriers of being new to the country, it becomes even more difficult.

I put off the mission until late in the afternoon, and then wandered around town for a while as I thought of a strategy. Eventually, I decided to buy things from people selling on the road, and ask the question while they got the change.

I began by purchasing some biscuits from a young girl down the street from the guesthouse. Ironically, I interrupted her while she was doing her homework. After paying for the biscuits, I said, "Please, I also have a question for you. Do you know why is that more boys than girls attend school in Ghana?"

She shook her head and said "no". From my later experience, I expect that I phrased the question in the wrong way. At the time, however, I had the uncomfortable feeling that she expected that I was about to tell her why I thought that more boys than girls attended school here. I wished her a good day and moved on.

I tried again soon after, with two women selling groundnuts. After paying, I explained that my "senior sister" had sent me out to ask the question, and phrased it as "why do you think" rather than "do you know why". I had to rearrange the question a few times before they got my meaning (Ghanaian english can take some getting used to). The women replied that men used to attend school more often than women, but now, everything was fine.

I bought some bananas from a young woman farther down the road (my pockets were starting to get very full by this time), and asked the question again. When I finally got the question right, she responded by stating that girls often did not value education as much.

I soon realized that my strategy of speaking only to street vendors didn't exactly give a balanced sample, since the majority of them were women. To get some male representation, I had to work up the courage to approach somebody on the street.

I asked the question to a young man named Justin next, who I think was about my age. His response was that education was still not considered as important for girls. I found it interesting how the answer differed slightly from the woman I had spoken to just before, although you probably can't read much into talking to just two people.

Finally, having worked up a lot of courage, I approached a group of men sitting down on some benches, and posed the question my "senior sister" had sent me out to find.

Immediately, one of the men pulled out a bench for me to sit on in the shade. I sat down in the middle of the group. The eldest man in the group said "first, you have not greeted us. What is your name?"

I felt completely embarassed by my rookie mistake. In many cases, it would be in bad form to ask a question like that in Canada without introducing yourself. In Ghana, where greeting is considered to be very important, the misstep is more important. I apologized and introduced myself as Dane.

The man introduced himself to me as Issah. He then told a story about a foreigner getting off a plane and asking a question to a Ghanaian in the airport without introducing himself. I wondered if being reprimanded in story form is better or worse than the direct style.

I sat and talked to the men for about 15 minutes; about the question, but also life in Ghana in general. They were happy to sit and talk to a complete stranger, and to get to know each other better. I realized that, although I was sure to make similar mistakes in the future, it was necessary to "dive in" if I was ever going to speak to anybody, and learn as I go along.

Mission Accomplished.

Arrival

My plane touched down in Accra, the capital of Ghana, on Wednesday evening. My introduction to Ghana was the wave of humidity that hit me on walking out of the plane; after making my way through customs and out into the greeting area, the flurry of activity and voices were my introduction to Accra.

Shawn, a fellow Engineers Without Borders Junior Fellow, met me coming off the plane. It was my first time seeing one of the other JF's since training, and I wondered about all the experiences he must have had since our training week back in May. JF's are university students from across Canada, who spend 4 months on volunteer placements in developing countries through EWB. This year, I am the only JF to work in the fall rather than the summer, owing to the unique schedule of being in a co-op program.

We met Mel, another JF, later in the night, and the two of them saw me off on the bus to Tamale the next morning. As with many EWB volunteers before me, the city of Tamale is my starting point for learning more about the north, and eventually travelling to the district I'll be working in. The bus ride to Tamale lasted a total of 13 hours, with stops at several rest stations, including one in the major city of Kumasi. I learned later that this is considered a very successful ride (no hold-ups or breakdowns, and a fast driver).

The day after arriving in Tamale, I was able to sit in on a wrap-up retreat for the Ghana JF's. Every Junior Fellow travelling to Ghana that I trained with was at the retreat (except for Shawn and Mel, who were already in the south). This was a very lucky situation for me, to be able to catch up with everyone and hear about all of their stories and the different districts that they had worked in.

A friend of Kristy Minor, one of EWB's Long-Term Overseas Volunteers, invited us to her house for supper that night, where I had my very first Ghanaian TZ (a meal made from maize flour, with a consistency like porridge in jello form, drenched in soup and eaten by hand). As the JF's reminisced around me, I felt incredibly inexperienced. I knew that I was just starting out, as they once had, but somehow comparing myself to everyone I had gone through training with just 3 months before left me feeling somewhat lacking. I wondered how it had been different for them, to learn some of the basics together at a group, but I also somehow enjoy the challenge of 'going it alone'.

We learned about the culture shock cycle in training; entering a new culture, you can often expect to feel invigorated by all the new and different things around you, then eventually have an emotional crash as you realize how little you know. This levels off with experience. In my first few days, I think that I've oscillated between the first few stages several times already. The knowledge of the LTOV's and JF's definitely brings reality home, but I also can't wait to get out to the district I'll be working in, to discover another new culture and language.

Tomorrow, I head for Navrongo.